*༶тαѕтєѕ ѕσ ѕωєєт | h.ѕ ༶*

Broken Flowers ♡

♡

The second I close the door in the face of the boy who made me feel loved for the first time in my life, I go ballistic.  I tear off the dress I had picked out specifically in the hopes that Harry would like it. I rip the bobby pins out of my hair that were set in place on one side of my hair, so Harry could easily tickle my neck with his lips without having to move my dark curls out of the way first, throwing them on the carpet. I walk to my perfectly placed fluffy pen and diary that I fooled myself by writing in after every night and morning spent with Harry, and I throw it at the wall. I weep as I watch the words I had written about him look back at me from the floor now, the pages slightly torn and misplaced.

Harry shouts my name over and over again, his raspy voice scared as I continue throwing every single thing I own onto the floor. I don't care when my records snap in to two pieces. It barely phases me when the fairy lights wrapped around my metal bed frame spark frantically as I pull on them, ripping them off the metal. I know I won't be able to stand looking at them anymore. Not after Harry has laid on this bed.

"Flora James! Let me in or I will kick down this bloody door!" Harry screams as I take all of my books off my shelves one by one. I admire each one of them before I chuck them at the floor. All of the flowers over the years I have kept in the pages of my paperbacks and old diaries leave broken petals all over the carpet. And I sob, ignoring Harry's voice coming from the other side of the door.

I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to feel this broken.

I fall to the floor, my hands reaching out to salvage what's left of the pressed flowers. But I find nothing to fix. The pressed flowers are too far gone. My body gives up, laying down on the carpet and I just stare at all of the brokenness. I created this. I messed everything up the second I let Harry sit next to me in that bar. I messed up the second I let him tell me I was something I was not, beautiful. I messed up when I believed him, and every words that left his perfect lips.

And the worst of it, I messed up when I fell in love with him.

I can't hear Harry shouting anymore. I think he finally gave up on me. On us. I hate that I still want him. Shouldn't their be something inside of me telling me to forget about him, that I can't trust him, that I need to stop loving him? Why isn't there some sort of button I can press to make this pain stop?

I flip my body over, tired of looking at broken flowers. When I turn over my eyes lock onto my diary, laying to an open page way in the back that I've never seen before, and the writing is different from mine and the ink is messily written and not in the color of my pink fluffy pen I always write in. It looks like the dark ink Harry writes in.

♡